


Darken His Doorstep

by remarkable1



Category: Avengers (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom, Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coercion, Concerned Citizens, Drunkenness, F/M, Graphic Description, Healers, Hurt No Comfort, Mean!Thor, New Asgard, No Smut, Other, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Reader!OFC, References to Faerie/Fae, Threats, Threats of Violence, Trying to help, Unwanted Help, Violence, Witches, bro!thor, drunk!Thor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-19 05:46:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22972909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remarkable1/pseuds/remarkable1
Summary: Drunk!Thor is lost in his misery of blame on New Asgard. You, Reader, are Marianne, OFC, doing your best to help the God of Thunder. Crossing a line, you underestimate the beast you unleash in the unstable King of New Asgard.
Relationships: Thor Odinson & OFC, Thor/OFC
Kudos: 6





	Darken His Doorstep

This is my first Reader!OFC character fic, a one-shot. Your name is Marianne. I do NOT plan on expanding this fic at this time, but have created a folder of "one-shots that I might expand" on my hard drive, and this is going in it. Let me know what you think. Warning: This is NOT a HEA. Too many fics romanticize 'saving' Thor, and alcoholism is just a really ugly thing that does not always end in recovery, sunshine and roses. If you are triggered by violence or alcoholism, your back button is your friend. Otherwise, thank you for reading!

  
  


He’d been avoiding everyone for the entire evening. Even Val gave up on him the third time he’d shooed her away, sucking down his umpteenth tankard of ale, none the worse for wear on the outside. Hell, the King’s tolerance for alcohol was legendary, and a bit sickening. 

No one knew who was paying for all that beer, but it hadn’t done the man any favors. Some days, he could drink a barrelful of ale and seem completely sober and somewhat approachable, if he’d ever come out of hiding. Other days, a single beer would set him off into the drunken stupor he was now famous for.

It saddened you to see the once-mighty warrior come to this. His own people danced in celebration of life and survival, the anniversary of the founding of New Asgard, a glorious new start in another realm. As an added bonus, the first Asgardian/Midgardian child had been born, the little tyke screaming and healthy as he was passed around, his proud parents as boisterous as the rest.

Thor refused to hold and bless the child, which put a damper on the spirits of the evening. You could sense the party winding down, even as you knew it usually went on much later. Enthusiasm had waned. More than a few glares and mumbles were sent Val’s way -behind her back, of course – for inviting the King to darken the doorsteps of their festival.

The proprietor hugged and waved off the last few revelers. Not one had wished Thor a good evening while departing, and his back to all of them was the unspoken, standing message. In essence, he’d turned on them, and they no longer held out hope he’d return to them, wallowing in his failure to defeat Thanos.

Like a bad penny, you kept showing up, never giving up. As an empath, you could sense his deep distress and grief, the longing to be one of them once more. Still, he was lost in the haze, and addiction of alcohol, unwilling to live or die, caught in a never-ending, frustrating in-between that was eating him alive from the inside out.

No one else could sense the despair and seething self-hatred, anger at the world and universe, for causing him to fail. Self-blame and flagellation was a flag he proudly and tiredly waved, the banner drooping, full of holes against the stormy sky that lit the backdrop that was his once-brilliant, strategic mind.

It was his fault trillions were dead. He wasn’t worthy of anything, or anyone. Nothing good. Yet he refused to give up entirely, and then hated himself more for not having the courage to just let himself die.

You put your hand on his shoulder, garnering zero response. Not even a twitch. “Come on, your highness. Off to bed.”

“Leave me.”

It was always like this, on the rare occasions he ventured out. Even when he didn’t, he didn’t try to keep you from visiting his home, he simply ignored you until you left.

Well, you were sick and tired of it. It was time to get him to react, even though you knew he was going to take it out on you.

“Come on.”

Thor slammed his tankard onto the bar, now that there wasn’t anyone else except the barkeep to witness his tantrum. Slowly, he whirled on his stool, elbows back, beard dripping with dissolving foam, cornflower blue eyes dull.

“Are you deaf? I told you to leave me be.”

Unperturbed, you reached out to grasp at his wrist, sucking in a deep breath when one of his hands snaked like lightening and gripped yours in return, squeezing until the small bones ground against one another and you let go. Flinging your arm away from him, he pounded the bar and looked over your shoulder as he awaited another mug.

“I’m sorry, Highness, we’re closing. I think you’ve had enough.”

Shocked, you raised eyebrows at the barkeep. He stood tall, chin jutted out, arms crossed. Well, finally, it looked like someone else besides you were taking a stand, refusing to coddle the poor King of Asgard. It was about time.

“I agree with Marianne. And I won’t stand by while you assault her for simply looking after your welfare.”

Thor grit his teeth in a mutinous scowl, looking between the two of you before swearing with a thick growl in Asgardian. Then, he stood and moved his bulk from the establishment, allowing his shabby robe to trail behind him in the mud and drizzle, uncaring.

“Thank you,” you told the barkeep, and he shrugged.

“It’s the least I can do. If no one stands up to him, he’s never going to change, is he?”

“Aye. I’m not making any promises, but I’ll see what I can do. I owe him that much. He saved my life.”

“He saved all of us but won’t ever forgive himself for the ones he lost.”

“Aye. Well, I’m off. Say ‘ello to your wife.”

“Will do. Good eve, Marianne.”

You followed after the King, spotting him in the distance under a flickering streetlamp at the edge of the small town, hearing the waves lapping at the nearby shore, the air tangy with salt and drying fish. It took no time at all to catch up with him.

Careful not to invade his space, sensing his distress, you stood nearby, offering silent moral support.

“You never were one to listen.”

You shrugged. “What can I say? I go where I am needed.”

“I have no need of your services. You would do well minding some other misguided soul.”

“You’re lost, my liege, not simply misguided. When you are ready, I will be here to help guide you back.”

“I’ll never be ready. I cannot bear to fail them again.”

You wanted to tell him that he failed them every day he refused to try and live again, if not for his own sake, then for theirs. It was not the time nor the place, so you kept your own counsel, changing the subject.

“You must be cold. May I walk with you?”

“Would telling you ‘no’ stop you from doing so?”

You grinned, even though he couldn’t see it. “No.”

Shrugging, he ambled off again, grumbling about needing a drink. You thought he needed a shower and change of clothes worse than he needed a drink. A lot of tongue-biting was had in his presence lest you set him off. Yet, wasn’t that part of the problem? You feared his wrath? No one else, save Val, could fathom the unending rage that was bottled within him. It would be volcanic once unleashed, so if you could help him release it in small bursts, it might, perhaps, allow some of the pressure to ease and help him to see reason. It was a faint hope, but all you had to work with. Nothing positive was exuding from his aura, and that was concerning as it grew darker by the week. Soon, there would be no color left at all, and if that happened, he truly would be lost to you.

You trotted ahead, opening the door for him, trying not to gag on the smell coming from the ramshackle house. It was disgusting. Vowing to go in and clean while he was passed out, even if he raged at you, he passed you by and waved you off.

“Goodnight, your Highness,” you told him, and he just grunted, slamming the inner door shut behind him, right in your face.

“And a merry good eve to me,” you chuckled, saddened but unsurprised by the action, and headed back to your own abode to organize an impromptu cleaning party upon morning light, so their King wasn’t living in squalor and filth any longer. It was time to enact _Operation Get The King Off His Ass And Moving._ Not a very good title, but what you had to work with. At this point, getting Thor to do anything constructive at all would be a success.

The first would be getting him a bath and some clean clothing, with or without his consent.

\--

You heard the thunder right before the lightning struck the beloved shade tree in your front yard. It was a bright, cloudless day, and the smoking, charred ruin was all that was left by the time you ran home from the docks.

Fuming, you marched over to Thor’s shithole hovel, never imagining he would go so far as to destroy something you loved and nurtured. That tree was like a child to you. All manner of sprite and faerie used it as a sanctuary on their journeys, not to mention the birds, squirrels, and other life forms that flit through the magical leyline your home was built upon. Ruined in an instant.

“Thor Odinson!” you shouted, stomping all five foot four inches of your combat-boot clad feet up the rickety steps, pounding on the door, trying the knob and finding it locked, then beating it some more. “Thor Odinson! You will come out of this house right now and explain to me why you murdered my tree, or by Odin’s beard, I swear I will burn your house down with you and everything in it!”

The door very slowly opened, and Korg peeked out. “Good morning, miss. I’m afraid Thor is a little busy at the moment-”

Ignoring the gentle voice, you shoved hard against the door frame, hitting Korg in the face, interrupting him. “Let me in.”

“I really don’t think that’s such a good idea. You see, when Thor woke up and found all the beer was gone from the house, well, as you can imagine, he wasn’t, and still isn’t, very happy at all. Blames you, he does.”

You just gave Korg a stony stare and kicked the door with an iron-toed boot, putting a dent in the wood, so it splintered. “Let. Me. In.”

“Alright, but it’s your funeral.”

Korg pressed himself against the narrow hallway wall that opened into the kitchen, and you thanked the stars the place at least smelled like a typical house, if only for a short time, thanks to the cleaning crew that assembled on short notice, eager to help and grateful for once their 

King was passed out while they’d worked around him in the early morning hours.

Stomping into the living room, you heard Thor shout, “You better not have let her in here, Korg! I’m sick and tired of hearing her whiny bitching about – oh, hi,” he said sheepishly, standing up as you came in, you raising an eyebrow at him.

“My whiny bitching?” you snarled at him, and he shrugged, turning back to his game as his ass flopped back in his chair.

“What do you want? I’m busy.”

“You destroyed my tree.”

“I did no such thing. Cease your hysterics and get off my property.”

“Right, because there are so many other Gods of Thunder on this planet, in this vicinity, that might just have an ax to grind with me for doing them a favor while they were sleeping, the ungrateful wretch.”

Pausing the game, Thor stood up again, trying to use his bulk to his advantage, but it was just sad, and he rounded on you, arms folded, stare cold. Waves of revulsion washed from him, and you couldn’t tell if it was aimed at you, the actions of others, or himself. It was very confusing. Then a flare of anger burst through his aura that belied the soft words he spoke. “You will never enter this home uninvited ever again, or I will have you expelled from the colony.”

“You and what army?” you stated boldly, lifting up your chin. It was challenging to meet the six-foot-five stare of an angry, newly sober God, but you managed, despite the crick you’d have in your neck later.

“Just me, friend. Just me.”

“Then you can get your ass over to my house, dig out the ruined pile of charred wood you leveled and find another tree of the same caliber, and replant it. You have no idea what you just destroyed.”

Finally admitting the crime, he smirked, ugly and rude, down at you. “Oh, I know exactly what I destroyed, and what it meant to you. Maybe this will serve as a lesson to keep your nose out of my fucking business!” he ended with a shout so loud it felt like your bones shook, his face right in yours. His breath reeked, and odor rolled off his unwashed body in disgusting waves of filth, making you want to gag.

“Alright, then. If that’s how you want to play this.”

“This is not a game, Mary. I have no quarrel with you, other than the fact you keep on harassing me.”

“You’re the King of New Asgard, for fuck’s sake!” you yell back, past the exact breaking point you’d never crossed. Maybe this was the push you’d needed to get your own ass moving past the self-imposed limits you’d set in the past. Professionality dictated a certain way of presenting oneself to a hard case such as Thor. He’d responded well to none of your approaches. Whatever the case, the deed was done, and if Thor wanted to see how far over the line he’d pushed you? He certainly would.

“ ** _YOU_** seem to forget yourself! Who are you, anyway? A nobody. A local witch, a busybody, uninvited, settling yourself in our town, reaping the fame New Asgard brings to this backwater planet.”

The words were cruel, terrible, and untrue. Thor could call you everything in the entire world he wanted, but when he maligned the very planet he swore to protect, it broke something within you. Was nothing sacred to this man anymore?

Thinking he finally had you over a barrel judging by your silence, he pointed a hefty finger over your head. “Go. Do not come back. You’ve been warned. I will not be held responsible for the damage done to your person if you darken my doorstep at any point from here on out.”

“So be it, Highness. Let the games begin.”

“The only game we will be playing is you throwing yourself at me, and my fist hitting you straight out of this town.”

“Go fuck yourself!” you screamed at him. “Go get lost and drown in your oceans of beer! Forget about the people around you that you claim to love and protect. If anyone is a parasite in this town, it is you! Look in the mirror, Thor! Take a good, hard, long look and tell me you’re proud of yourself for what you’ve become!”

Thor had turned from you. The more you shouted, the tenser his muscles became across his bare torso. The slow turn was the only warning you needed, leaping away from him just as he went through with his threat, a meaty fist glancing off your cheekbone with as sickening, **_crack!_**

You fell to the floor, dizzy and stunned, seeing stars, unimaginable pain blooming on the right side of your face, the God of Thunder heaving above you, eyes alight with power and fury. You had severely underestimated him. Now he was going to kill you.

“Get out,” he said, his voice so low you could barely hear it. “Get out before I burn your fucking house down, as you dared threaten me you would do to mine. Get out of this house, this town, and this country. If I so much as see your face around here, I will _end_ you.”

Crawling backward, eye rapidly swelling shut, you whimpered when strong hands pulled you up from behind, but it was only Korg.

“Hush now, hush. Korg’s got you. I’ll deal with Thor. You best be going, yeah? Get that injury looked at. That’s a girl. Off you go. Miek! Make sure this woman gets some medical attention!”

Thor stood planted, feet shoulder-width apart, glaring sparks, electricity rolling off his fists held tightly at his sides. Satisfied you were finally out of his house, all of the energy bled into the ground, and he collapsed in his chair, an exhausted, pathetic heap of shit.

He brought his hands up before his face, watching them shake violently as the contents of his stomach forcefully ejected onto them, throwing up the remnants of whatever was still rotting in his stomach from hours before, making a big, stinky mess.

“Oh, no. You’ve got it on the remote. Here now, let me help you to the shower.” Korg did his best to be supportive, but even he was getting tired of his friend’s self-imposed gloomy addiction.

“I hit her. I – I struck her, with these hands. A woman – I – I – I – was that me?” Thor looked up at Korg, tears heavy in his eyes, spilling down and soaking the tangles of his unkempt beard. “Did I really do that, just now? Please tell me I’m dreaming. Please- please tell me this is a hallucination, and I did not just strike that woman. It was so real. I- I felt her bones – in her cheek – she will be disfigured.”

Korg didn’t know what to say. He’d never seen Thor pushed so far that he’d actually physically hurt someone. If Marianne told others of how it had happened, God/King of New Asgard or no, there would be a hearing, and Thor could be deposed. New town, new rules. Val ran things now, and she didn’t put up with unwarranted violence.

“I’m afraid you did, mate. Not one of your better days.”

“Oh, Norns, what have I done? That – that wasn’t me. It couldn’t have been!”

“It was you, alright. I watched all of it.”

“Please don’t tell?” he half-begged Korg, the self-loathing rising so full and violent in his gut he spewed and dry-heaved the rest of the contents onto his chest and pajama pants.

“I’m staying right here by your side, mate. Nothing to tell. If she wants to tell people, it’s her story, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” was the sad reply, and Thor allowed himself to be led to the bathroom.

Marianne got her wish – Thor did bathe, willingly. Still, it was the furthest situation she could fathom, ever dream of, that would actually push him into doing so. The win was of no consequence when you were concussed, and half of your cheek smashed in. It would be a miracle if you didn’t lose sight of your eye.

Lost, afraid and alone, the God of Thunder had done what no man had before him – he’d crushed your spirit under his fist, and at that moment, lost the only other ally besides Korg, left in that town.


End file.
